Once Upon A Time
by LauraNataliee
Summary: Emma Swan never believed in fairy tales. Happy ever afters and once upon a times were just fiction. That was until Henry showed up. When he asks for her help to break the evil queens curse, will she help him? More importantly, will she finally find her own Happy Ever After?


Hey guys! Welcome to my new fanfic! I'm not sure how well, or how, um, not well(?) this is going to go, but for the first time in ages, I feel inspired to write by something, so that is exactly what I'm going to do! I'm definitely a newbie to the #oncers community. My boyfriends sister has leant me the dvds and I'm still only about half way through season 1, so bare with me, we're going right back to the beginning. Without further a do, I'd like to welcome you all to MY Storybrooke. I hope you all enjoy! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

I never believed in fairy tales. Once upon a times and happily ever afters. I never thought they were real. With good reason. If there was such a thing, I wouldn't have been left, abandoned even, by the only people in the world you're truly able to rely and depend upon before i was even old enough to understand. Not knowing who you're parents even are, it hurts. It's not a pain that just goes away either. There isn't a single solitary moment of a single solitary day I don't think about them. Wonder who they are. Where they are. But mostly, why. What was so bad about me that they were never able to so much as watch me grow up. I know that I'm a screw up and I spend every day wondering if they could have prevented that just by sticking around.

I struggle to trust people in life. I don't blame my parents, whoever they may be, solely for this, but the many let downs I've had to overcome in the process of becoming the me I am today. Every single guy who stole my love and affection. Who built me up just to tear me straight back down. It hurts, almost as much as being abandoned. I have many regrets from the in life. Plenty of them. But the one thing I never, ever regretted was my decision to give him up.

I was a pretty unruly kid growing up. I mean, who could blame me. I'd been through too much for it to simply not affect me. I'm not proud of the path I chose. I don't think it's ever something I really did choose though. More thrown into. Being in the care system, it's hard. At first it was ok, I guess. When I was too young to really know what was going on, I had a family. A mom and dad. It wasn't until they finally, after years of trying for their own baby and finally fell pregnant that I realised that they were never really mine. I'll always remember that day. The day they told me. My social worker was there. At the time, I simply only knew her as a friend of the family. I guess they were all too scared to tell me the truth. It was Mary who told me. The only mom I've ever known. Being told at age 6 that your mom isn't your mom and actually just a foster parent, it's tough. But not as tough as the life they threw me back into. After 6 years of being their daughter, I wasn't needed anymore. I was discarded into this waste bin of other unwanted children, teenagers. No babies though. I always found that strange. Being in the home though, I made friends with fellow orphans. They became my family until all of a sudden I'd be once again uprooted and taken to a new kids home, with different people, and have to start all over again. And that's pretty much how it remained.

It was when I was 16 things got really bad, I guess. I began drinking, taking drugs. My whole life began to revolve around trying to find someone, anyone who would just make me feel wanted. I mean, was that really so much to ask? I was only knocked back down to reality when it happened. Finding out your pregnant at 16 years of age by an unknown man is terrifying. I wanted to keep my baby so bad, but I would never have been able to give she or he the life they would have deserved. I was a screw up. I couldn't possibly pass that on to my child. I only had one option. A closed adoption.

As my due date approached, the thought of giving him or her up killed me, but all the paperwork had been decided and the social worked assured me that they had found the most perfect home. They said no more than that. It was part of the deal. I guess it was for the best though. My last and only memories of him, was watching him get wrapped up in a pale blue blanket. They didn't even let me hold him or see his little face before taking him away. I heard his cry though, and I'll always hold it in my heart.

I'm now 28. As of today actually. And life has carried on pretty much just as suckish as my previous years, however, I have a feeling that will all change, and that is all going to be because of him. The small, 12 year old boy who knocked on my door. His name is Henry, and he...he's my son.


End file.
